Episode One Hundred Four

I WILL NOT FEAR

The queen's hands scramble at the wall behind her. A second later, a door pops open, obscured by a mural of a summer garden. Frost covers the mural and the ice crackles when the door breaks away from its inset doorjamb.

She runs.

I give chase.

I am going to end this. Today. Now.

There will be no more pain and suffering. No more tricks. No more lies.

I may have only just learned I'm fae and part of the fae realm, but I'm already tired of the battle.

Do we not all deserve peace and safety and balance?

The Summer Queen wants none of that. She is only grasping for power.

The hallway beyond the receiving room is dimly lit with softly glowing lanterns staked into the stone. But I don't need light to guide me—there is only one direction to go and I follow it, chasing the queen's shadow as it stretches over the stone, as the hall curves back and forth on itself like the body of snake.

When I finally emerge, we're in a garden and the sky is dark.

Thick clouds roll in blotting out the sun. The air is charged and crisp.

I spot the queen's dress disappearing around a hedge row.

I run after her but come to a sudden stop.

The queen is now safely tucked behind the front lines of her army.

"Kill her!" she orders.

The fae soldiers charge toward me.

This is definitely not how I intended this fight to go down.

Shit.

Shit.

I got myself into this mess though, didn't I? I didn't follow the plan. I can already hear Bran in my head, chastising me for not thinking strategically, instead allowing my emotion to get the best of me.

He wouldn't be wrong.

A clap of thunder sounds in the sky and reverberates through the ground as I backtrack through the garden.

Where the hell do I go?

The army is an echo of the thunder behind me.

How many were there? A few dozen? A few hundred?

I didn't stick around long enough to find out but I'm no match for ten of them let alone ten dozen.

But I do have one trick up my sleeve.

It's questionable whether or not I can pull it off, but I have to try.

I come up against the palace wall and turn around to face the approaching army.

You are a queen, Mouse.

Now when I hear Bran's voice in my head, it's encouraging.

You are a fae queen with power beyond anyone's comprehension and this fae army doesn't stand a fucking chance.

Adrenaline surges through my body. The heat of excitement drowns out the anxiety and the overwhelming feeling of rightness undoes the knot of tension in my gut.

" Stop !" I call, digging deep to find my voice.

The army comes to a sudden, jolting stop.

Their armor clanks. Their swords are frozen, some raised in the air, some held by their side.

Unease shows on their faces.

A tall woman wearing a full suit of shinning golden armor grits her teeth and struggles against the command. She's at the front of the line and if I had to guess, she's the commander of this troop.

Her sword hand moves an inch.

I can feel them all fighting me.

It's like a thousand rubber bands are connected to me and they're pulling and pulling and pulling.

I stumble forward and nearly lose my balance.

The commander takes a step.

She takes another, then another. Her pace picks up.

If she makes it across this garden, I'm dead.

I press my back against the palace wall, bracing myself. " Stop !" I call again, but the woman somehow ignores the command and advances closer.

I feel the first sensation of a rubber band snapping.

I'm losing my grip on them.

I don't have any more weapons. I used my knife on Sam and there was no way I was going to pull it out. I learned that in first aid in the seventh grade.

And thinking about that, about Sam dying or lying dead in the Summer Palace gives me another push, helps me summon all the courage and power that I can.

But this time, I try another tactic.

I raise my hands. Pressure builds at my sternum. It feels like a war drum. A constant thump, thump of synergy and power.

The air crackles.

The commander slowly closes the distance between us, but I don't let her distract me.

Goosebumps ripple up my arms and the hair stands up along the back of my neck.

I breathe out and the breath condenses in a puff of white.

The commander raises her sword. The movement is like a movie in slow motion.

There is only five, maybe six feet between us and I'd bet her sword could easily close three of those feet.

Snowflakes swirl in the air and another rumble of thunder sounds in the distance.

"Summer Army!" the commander yells. "Hold back. I've got this one." Her dark brows sink over her eyes with menacing glee.

With the commander giving them an order to hold off, I no longer have to worry about the army. I let go of all the rubber bands, and doing so focuses my magic on one spot—on the commander.

Bran would tell me to be patient, even in war.

Not yet, Jessie.

Not yet.

The snow falls thicker.

The commander swings with her sword, but her movements are faster, picking up in speed.

I won't panic. I will not fear.

Her arrogance will be her undoing.

The sword is just inches from me.

Energy surges up from the ground and a cold wash of power comes over me. It races up my legs and pools in my belly before surging up my chest and then down my arm…where a bolt of ice forms sharp as a blade in my hand.

I sink to my knees. The commander's blade cuts the air above me, just inches from where I was. And she's made one vital mistake: she's left herself completely open.

I heave upward with the ice and it pierces her side. She gives a loud grunt.

I rock back, planting one foot in the ground, using the other knee to brace myself. I shove with more force.

The blade breaks bone. Blood gushes from the wound, down the crystal-clear ice, down my arm.

The commander coughs and blood splatters over her open mouth.

Her eyes get big and she quickly turns pale.

Her sword drops to the ground.

"Looks like you didn't have this one after all," I tell her right before she drops to her knees.